The Significance of the Assistant
by guineapiggie
Summary: A collection of little scenes. Some humour, some more serious tones. Scenes set before, during, and after the movie, mostly Danley obviously, but including the other horsemen as well. Rated T for language, just to be safe.
1. Paris

**Paris**

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own a thing; this was written for the purpose of entertainment only.

_***A/N* I've posted three stories for NYSM so far and I'm working on a longer one, but I've written a couple of scenes that are too short to post on their own, so I thought I'd make a little collection of them. **_

_**Apologies for my word choice and grammar, not very American (as far as I can tell). Enjoy!**_

* * *

"Remind me, what are we doing here?"

"Not letting our time in Paris pass by unused," he answered, still watching the French they had chosen as a target.

Henley gave an annoyed sigh at her one-hundred percent fun-proof comrade who had been appointed her partner in crime for today. Meaning she was forced to spend an entire night in a French club with the world's second-worst DJ and her arrogant ex-boss.

Hallelujah. She was obviously in for an unforgettable night.

"We could be standing on the Eiffel tower right now. Visiting the catacombs. Going on a walk through Montmartre."

"We're here to work," he replied, completely unimpressed.

"And it had to be you and me because…?"

"Because apparently I don't look gay enough to turn up here with any of the others," Atlas deadpanned, turning her around to get a better look at Étienne.

She had to hand it to him, it took a lot of self-restraint to utter that line and keep a straight face.

Or just a complete lack of humour, which was probably more likely in his case.

"Right, why can't we just stand around at the bar like every other normal human being? Why do we have to dance? To _that_ music?" she whined.

"We'd look suspicious standing around at the bar all night without getting smashed within two hours."

Trying not to scream in frustration, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to stop whatever it was his hand on her hip was making her feel.

"Well, I'm gonna need a drink if I'm to spend all night here with you," she muttered angrily.

"Henley, if you really want to insult me, you'll have to try a little harder. Trust me, I've heard it all."

That shut her up for a second. She couldn't decide whether it was because of his sarcastic smile or because of what he'd just said. Hinting at his rather lonesome past was not his ultimate secret weapon, but he'd learned very quickly it always worked with Henley.

That was the problem with the illusionist - playing people was his thing, and he was incredibly good at it. As much as she hated to admit it, most of the time he had her wrapped around his finger within minutes.

"So we're gonna dance all night?"

"No, we'll be off the dance floor the second Forcier leaves it."

The next thing the DJ put up was probably the slowest song she'd ever heard in her life.

_Did no one ever teach you that you don't put this shit up before midnight?!_

"Yeah. Great. Would you mind keeping your distance?" she asked bluntly, throwing him a pointed look.

"How stupid would we look dancing at arm's length?" He tried to act innocently, but the smirk fighting it's way on his lips was giving him away.

"Daniel."

"Yes?" he asked, probably trying to get an innocent look into his blue eyes (if he was, he was failing miserably).

She refrained from answering and instead stepped on his foot, but was surprised to find he managed to keep a straight face even as her heel dug in his foot.

Impressive.

"Seriously, I need a drink. Now." As he didn't really react to that, she added a sickly sweet: "Daniel Atlas, you will let me go right now or I swear I'm going to hurt you."

He ignored her threat. "Okay, if you really want one, I'll buy you a drink."

Right… now it was getting suspicious. He caved in so quickly, and, more importantly, he was ready to _pay_ for her drink? "Danny, if someone needs to get drunk to endure your company, that's not a good sign."

He grinned. "You swore to never get drunk again in my presence."

"Yeah, and now it got so bad I'll have to break that vow. What does that say about you?"

Would that damned song ever end?

"No, Henley, the question you need to ask is: what does that say about your vows?"

She looked up only to find his face a damn lot too close to her own. "You've lost me completely, Danny."

"No, see, that's my point," he replied, still with that triumphant grin on his face. "I haven't. I haven't lost you completely."

She shook her head, wondering whether he had drunk while she had been hanging around Forcier, pretending to be on the phone and mentioning Vegas a lot.

But then again, she knew how much it took to get Danny so drunk he stopped sounding like he'd swallowed a dictionary, and nobody could drink that much in five minutes.

"What do you mean?"

Instead of an answer, he let go of her and asked nonchalantly: "Tequila, is it?"

_Hang on, six years and he remembers that?_

"Yeah, but, what d'you mean, you haven't?" she repeated stubbornly, trying to read that smile of his. She got… nothing. There was probably a reason even McKinney didn't really manage to see behind Atlas' facade.

"Well, you… you also vowed you'd hate me forever," Daniel answered and disappeared in the crowd.

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	2. Black Leather

**Black Leather**

_***A/N* See, that's what I meant when I said short ;) This takes place a while after the movie. Enjoy!**_

* * *

"Are you _deliberately_ dressing like a dominatrix, Henley?"

A strained silence hung in the air after Merritt's words, Jack gaping at the mentalist, Henley looking down herself with a frown and Daniel amusedly observing the scene from behind his novel.

The escape artist wore immensely high heels, a short leather skirt, matching jacket, her inevitable fingerless leather gloves, her long hair pinned up in a tight bun and bloody red nail polish. He couldn't deny Merritt had a point.

"Well, I thought you of all people would appreciate a touch of that, Merritt," she said after a second and grinned at the oldest horseman.

"You didn't hear me complain," he replied with a dirty smile. "I was just pointing it out."

He eyed Henley very slowly from head to foot and that smile widened a little more. "I can't really imagine Danny-boy getting off on that, though."

Henley shot the mentalist a pointed look and turned towards the mirror.

Jack threw Daniel a slightly worried glance, probably scared he would resort to physical violence again.

Danny suppressed a laugh. If he'd known how much fun he was going to have with Jack afterwards, he would have let his jealousy get the better of him years ago. His hand still hurt a little, though - he wasn't exactly adept at punching people (although he'd given Merritt a fairly satisfying nosebleed). He usually solved his conflicts verbally, mostly because he knew he was probably not the most intimidating person on the planet when it came to fighting. But sometimes, it was impossible to reason with the mentalist, especially when they were both slightly drunk and Merritt taking hitting on Henley for fun at least ten steps too far.

Even though the aftermath of his outburst (his only one to date, he deserved a medal for his composure) had included a lot of cursing and whining on both sides, he didn't really have the impression Merritt was mad about it. He almost seemed a little proud, having finally managed to get Danny this far.

But Jack was jumpy around them ever since, which Daniel and Merritt both found absolutely hilarious.

"I think it's the skirt," Merritt decided finally, seizing the opportunity to take a good look on her backside.

"No, I think the jacket's too much," Jack argued, contemplating Henley's outfit, too.

"Everybody wears leather jackets, there's nothing wrong with the jacket. The skirt's got that dominatrix touch."

"I don't think it's the skirt," Henley said, looking at herself critically in the mirror.

"Maybe the gloves?" Jack suggested tentatively, but recoiled at the look she gave him.

Henley would not loose the gloves for _anything_.

Putting his book down slowly, Daniel let his eyes wander over her very deliberately, not even trying to hide his suggestive smirk. He knew he was the only one whom she'd let get away with this and he absolutely felt like making the most of that advantage.

She caught his eyes and the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

Merritt raised an eyebrow and shook his head in disbelief, which was what he always did whenever the two magicians displayed the slightest hint of mutual affection in front of him (usually accompanied by a comment along the lines of "what the hell do you want with _him_, sweetheart?", but apparently today he felt like being subtle).

"It's the shoes," Daniel said decidedly. "Definitely the shoes."

"Well, I'll wear them anyway."

"Didn't say you shouldn't," he muttered, still grinning, and returned to his book.

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	3. Movie Night

**Movie Night**

**DISCLAIMER:** I hold no rights whatsoever to the movie mentionned, either (as you will probably see, I didn't even like it).

_***A/N* Just on a side note, if you should find a bit of grammar that looks weird to you, please tell me, I'm German and sometimes I do strange things to the English language ;)  
Oh, and if you've got any promt for this, please feel free to tell me!  
This takes place sometime during the year they prepared for their shows. Enjoy!**_

* * *

The noises coming from the living room were abhorrent. Henley groaned and pulled her pillow over her head - it was no use, the noise didn't seem to be suffocated in the least.

To be fair, she was in no position to complain about the boys still being up. It was barely past nine, but she'd been feeling a little ill all day and had decided to go to bed early.

But now that she was curled up in her warm bed, she was feeling annoyingly awake.

She stared at the ceiling for another few minutes, then got up with a sigh and tapped back into the living room, surprised to find Danny sitting on the couch alone.

"Where are the others?"

He shrugged and took a handful of popcorn out of a big bowl on the coffee table, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Jack said he'd go to the cinema, don't know where Merritt went."

Henley sat down next to him on the couch and huddled in a thick blanket. Then she glanced at the screen only to find three half-naked women in Victorian dresses all over a young man whose bare skin was smeared with blood.

She raised an eyebrow and asked matter-of-factly: "Daniel Atlas, are you watching porn?"

He looked at her, completely dumbfounded, then burst out laughing so hard he almost choked on his popcorn. He took a full minute, coughing and gasping for air, until he caught himself, wiped his eyes and motioned towards an empty DVD case on the coffee table.

"That's not _porn_, that's a classic," he explained, now in full-on know-it-all mode.

Rolling her eyes, Henley reached for the case and read out: "Bram Stoker's _Dracula_."

Looking up at the screen again, she recognised the guy from _Matrix_ (still halfway undressed, but now without the vampire ladies nibbling at him) and frowned as she tried to follow the scene and failed miserably.

"Is there a plot somewhere in there?"

"You missed half of the movie, Henley, don't complain if you don't get it."

"Huh." She wriggled deeper into her blanket and turned back to the screen, determined to catch up - she was _not_ going to admit to Mr Arrogance himself that she didn't understand his movie.

"Hang on, that guy's Dracula?"

"No, that's the estate agent, Harker," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "The old one's Dracula."

"What does Dracula need an estate agent for?"

He groaned, hitting stop with more drama than strictly called for. "Doesn't it say _all that_ on the DVD cover? He wants to buy land in London, that's what he needs an estate agent for. Then he saw the picture of Harker's fiancée and she reminded him of his wife and now he wants to meet her. All clear now?"

She pushed him, but didn't gather much force because she was far too tired to make an effort. "Don't treat me like I was stupid, you gotta admit that movie's a little weird. For example, if he didn't know about the fiancée when he booked the agent, why did he want land in London in the first place?"

"Well, because…" His condescending tone slipped. "Er, don't know."

"See?"

"Fine, I admit you're right and you let me watch?" he suggested with a small smile and offered her the popcorn bowl.

"Wait, who's the redhead again?" she asked, acting confused. Danny took a deep breath, visibly preparing for a _long_ rant.

"I'm kidding!" she intervened hastily, raising her hands in defeat.

He threw her a look that was equal parts annoyance and amusement and turned back to the TV.

.

"Hey. Henley."

"Mh?" She forced her heavy lids open and gave a start when she found herself leaning at Daniel's shoulder, his face only a couple of inches away.

He grinned down on her, a rare warm glint in his eyes. "You missed the best part."

"What, did he finally decide on a creature to turn into?" She was incredibly tired, which was the only reason she hadn't jumped off the couch so far. What the hell was wrong with her?

Oh right, that must have been the medication she'd taken before going to bed. She tried to fight the sleepiness, but it wouldn't go away. Damn medical progress.

"No, you missed Mina killing him."

"Oh, _damn_," she murmured, feeling herself drifting off to sleep again. "Great movie."

Danny chuckled. "Yeah, you were really captivated. C'mon, how about you go to bed before my arm dies off?"

"Sorry," Henley muttered, and she really wanted to move, but somehow her limbs felt too heavy for that.

He groaned and shook her shoulder lightly. "Seriously, Henley? Just because I manage not to drop you on stage - go on, get up. Honestly, I can't feel my hand anymore."

"You could've just pushed me off when I started to get heavy," she argued sleepily.

"I didn't want to wake you, could you please appreciate that?"

"I really do."

With a heavy sigh, he gently pushed her off his shoulder and got to his feet. She yawned and immediately took up the new space available, trying to find a comfortable position. Sadly, she was too tall for the couch, but she was already so drowsy she didn't really care about the stiff neck she would have in a few hours.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" she could hear him mutter before she drifted off for good.

.

The second time she opened her eyes was no less shocking than the first.

Mostly because she woke up in her bed with no recollection of getting there herself, and Jack swore there hadn't been anyone on the sofa when he got home (and everyone knew that Merritt never found his way back to the flat before five in the morning).

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	4. If Happy Ever After Did Exist

**If Happy Ever After Did Exist**

**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own the song.

**Song mentionned: **"Payphone" - Maroon 5 (title taken from there as well)

_***A/N* So regular updates are not my thing as it turns out. Seriously, this is the first time I've ever written ahead and I just can't wait until Friday. Anyway.  
Yeah, it's a songfic. But trust me, put it on and read, it works ;)  
This takes place before the movie, right after Henley left (I'm sticking with my head cannon that I explored in my stories "In the End, I'll Always Catch You" and "Pillow Talk").  
**_

* * *

The taxi driver had turned the radio up and while an annoyingly cheerful radio moderator yapped on about insignificant nonsense, Daniel sat in the back of the car staring at his phone.

It would surprise most people to see how few numbers were saved in his phone book. Only a handful of people had earned their space on his memory card. His parents, for example, hadn't made it there (and why would he call them anyway? He send a card every Christmas and every birthday, which was more than enough contact).

The number he was currently staring at had been there for a while now. His assistant had been saved the day he met her, for practical reasons. At first.

But he had spent more time contemplating the possibility to call during the past year than he'd like to admit. So much time, in fact, that by now he knew the number by heart. And now that he should have long deleted it, he still caught himself staring at it instead.

She'd been gone for almost nineteen days now, and he knew she expected him to press that tempting little button with the green receiver on it.

He knew he _wanted_ to do just that.

Trouble was, he didn't know what would happen if he did. Not that he wasn't used to being yelled at, or being insulted or threatened or rejected. It was just that she would manage to actually make it hurt. And that scared him to no end.

How could he press this button knowing he might end up heartbroken or whatever the term was?

The driver turned the volume up even more, forcing Daniel to listen to the popsong for a moment.

.

_You can't expect me to be fine, I don't expect you to care_

.

It had to be a song about a guy who'd just been left. Of course it did, how could it not be?

Jeez, even the radio was making fun of him.

The steady rhythm bore into his head with every beat, making him feel oddly awake and a little angry.

Why should he call? Why was that his job? It wasn't his fault.

Okay, it was _partly_ his fault. Probably _mostly_ his fault, but not _completely_ his fault.

Fine, so he'd messed things up. Point for her. But then she'd left, which had to be a point for him. So basically, they were even. It was her turn now, wasn't it?

What had she been expecting, anyway? She knew him, she ought to have known being with him wasn't always easy.

A grim smile crept on his lips. Somewhere deep down he knew his anger was pointless and that it actually _was_ all his fault, but it sure as hell felt a lot better than sadness.

(And it didn't really matter what he felt towards her anyway because he was likely to never see her again in his life).

.

_All those fairy tales are full of shit, one more fucking love song I'll be sick_

.

He couldn't have agreed more.

His mind made up, he stuffed his phone back into the pocket of his jacket and knocked on the glass separating him from the driver.

"Hey, sorry, could you turn that down please?"

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	5. Perks of Having A Control Freak Around

**The Perks of Having a Control Freak Around**

_***A/N* So this is a textbook drabble - it literally doesn't have any sort of plot ;) Hope you'll still like it!**_

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Even though Merritt liked to say otherwise, living with Daniel Atlas had its perks.

Obviously, it also had its downsides. Every time anyone left the room, it only took a few seconds for him to ask "Where are you going?" and then to give out orders like a high-ranking military man.

Daniel controlled _everything_, from the shopping lists over the way the kitchen cupboards were organised to the times they went out, with whom and why.

He'd set up tons of rules for them. Schedules for taking out the bins, cleaning the flat, doing the shopping; rules ranging from "no dates at the flat" to "no shoes on the carpet".

And if he found something that had somehow escaped his control, he was _insufferable _for the next five days.

He was jealous (though she had seen that coming, he had been territorial even before she'd given him any reason to be).

He whined about Henley's favourite books, the music Merritt listened to and the movies Jack watched. Complained about Henley's tick about her gloves and about the other men's "complete incapability of keeping things in order" (quote Atlas) as well as the times they got up in the morning and pretty much every second thing they did.

He corrected their grammar mistakes.

And if he ran out of other means to drive them up the wall, he just sat down and spent hours with his cards.

.

But there were good things, too.

For example, the fact he got up at six sharp every morning meant there was always fresh coffee when the others got out of bed.

The flat was spotless. Always.

Plus, Daniel was practically born for a life on the run. He was so obsessively tidy that he managed to pack all of his belongings in less than fifteen minutes. And those belongings were barely worth mentioning - a watch, a phone, the deck of cards he never took off his person, a few other things for magic tricks, an iPod full of old swing classics, a handful of books (a collection that consisted of so many classics Henley sometimes wondered whether he had taken it straight from his high school book list) and, hidden between the pages, a few old photographs.

He was one hundred percent reliable. When he was in charge of something, it was done, period. No matter whether it was the shopping or an immaculate revenge plan that stretched over more than a year.

Unlike Merritt and Jack, he actually managed to produce something edible in the kitchen if need be. Whenever she'd let Jack into the kitchen, he had been seconds away from setting it on fire, and what Merritt had dished out had been plain disgusting, so she appreciated anyone who could cook up a basic pasta dish.

He didn't care about cars, football, baseball, soccer, weird Heavy Metal bands or online gaming and he didn't have a creepy obsession with Scarlett Johansson (which was only a small sample of the things Henley's previous boyfriends had driven her insane with).

Fine, sometimes the term "emotionally unavailable" was more than fitting on him (especially when he was "busy" with something, meaning whenever he was on a trick, which was, like, ninety percent of his waking time), but he had his moments. And if he had them, it was worth the wait.

Then of course, he was just as obsessed with magic as she was, which made up for many of his flaws.

.

She was happy being with him. Most of the time she didn't really know why, but she was.

And for her, that was enough reason to keep him around.

(Though she would never tell Merritt that - it wouldn't change the opinion he had of Danny, anyway.)

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	6. Tracking Bracelet

**Tracking Bracelet**

_***A/N* I'm referring to the deleted scene with the rose that was on the DVD specials here (basically Henley gives Daniel a rose before their show in New Orleans, referring to something he said to her when they were still working together, he doesn't get the gesture at all and reacts **_**really**_** unfriendly).  
(Just warning you, next update might take a while.)  
Hope you'll enjoy it! And please remember, promts are very welcome!**_

* * *

"I'm not wearing that," she declared and dropped the tracking bracelet that she was holding between two fingers like a dead mouse on his table.

"They're all wearing it." He looked around himself in confusion the way he always did when he believed whatever he'd just said was obvious.

Gosh, he was so arrogant.

"Yeah, well, I'm not."

This time he looked up at her, much like someone would look at a misbehaved child. "Yes, you are. Again, they're _all_ wearing one. _I'm_ wearing one."

"Okay, don't even get me started on how stupid it is that you're monitoring _yourself_," she muttered. "Have you ever thought about the psychological effect this has on people? You constantly being all over them, tracking their every step, like some… some sick sort of puppet-master?"

Daniel chuckled, playing with his damned cards again. "Puppet-master," he repeated with a sarcastic undertone.

Sighing, she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to calm herself.

Why did his condescending tone even get to her so much?

Oh, right, because she thought they were friends.

"If you have to control everything, fine, that's your problem. But, honestly, don't you think you're taking it a bit too far?"

"No, I don't think so," he replied coolly, going back to his cards. "I'm just trying to make sure none of these guys is screwing us over. It's a rational thing."

"You've triple-checked them all!"

"And I like to make sure. They'll stand the pressure for one night." He looked up when she still didn't move and added drily: "If you don't like yours, I'll have it set with diamonds first the next time."

"Has anyone ever told you you're not funny?"

"Look, I know you're mad about what I said earlier. I'm sorry. I'm stressed, I didn't think. But I got it, thank you."

She frowned at him. "What?"

Putting his cards away with a sigh, he said slowly: "Honestly. Thanks. You have a good show, Henley, and I suppose you should leave now before I say something else to piss you off."

All she could do was shake her head. "See, even when you're _trying_ to be nice, you're not."

He smiled, but it wasn't that lofty facade she'd come to know over the years. Instead, she was surprised to think it looked… _genuine_, even a little embarrassed. "Being nice… requires concentration that I can't spare at the moment because I'd rather concentrate on getting us all out of this. The tracking device is part of the plan, in case you've forgotten," he went on, his condescending manner slowly fighting its way back into his voice, "the FBI will hack it and it'll look suspicious if you don't wear it."

He held it out to her, but she made no move towards it.

"Maybe you were just trying to be a gentleman and spared me," she suggested, grinning against her will. She knew she'd lost the argument anyway.

"That would make you the first to get that treatment and they'd probably think they could use you against me, so basically I'm being a gentleman by _not_ being one. Wear it, end of story."

She reached for the bracelet in his hand in defeat, trying to make sense of what he'd just said.

"I don't need to be protected, Danny."

He smiled and went back to his cards, then muttered without looking up: "Won't stop me from trying."

She froze halfway trough strapping the bracelet to her wrist and stared at him for a second, wondering whether she'd heard him correctly.

"And now _please_ stop keeping me from my work. See you on stage, good luck. Get out."

It was almost relieving to hear him be his insensitive self again.

"Yeah, good luck," she scoffed and left, shaking her head.

She would _never_ understand this guy.

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	7. Bruises

**Bruises**

_***A/N* So, some established Danley for a change ;) I don't know, somehow it's missing something, but... please enjoy!**_

* * *

It was hard to hide physical damage, especially if one was sharing a flat with people who made a living out of paying close attention. Especially if one had for some reason chosen to surround oneself with a mentalist and got oneself a first-class control freak for a boyfriend.

And, of course, less than an hour after she had returned -

"What's that?"

"What's what?" she asked back sweetly, less because she hoped she could still get out of this and much more because it would feel wrong not to argue.

Daniel shot her a stern look, put his book down and had pushed up the sleeve of her shirt before she could protest.

The sight silenced him for a second, then when he spoke his voice was quiet and cold.

"How'd you get that?"

"At training, stupid mistake. No big deal," she replied, hoping to sound nonchalant which was sort of hard under his firm gaze.

"No big deal," he repeated. "Have you seen the _size_… did you, like, get kicked by a horse?"

"I knocked over an iron bar and it hit my arm," she explained impatiently. This was exactly why she had been trying to hide it. "Happy now?"

"I'm not stupid, Henley," he said, still in his quiet voice.

She looked up at him in confusion. "… I know, but what's that got to do with anything?"

"Do you think I can't see how often this happens? I mean, I'm not blind."

With a sigh, she leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. "Why is this such a big thing for you? It's operational hazard."

"Operational -"

"Yes, Daniel, _operational hazard_. Like being chased halfway through the states by the FBI, remember?"

"You know you could _tell _us these things and we could help you?" he asked, annoyance slipping into his voice, too.

"No, I can't," she bit back, turning to look at him, "because guess who's the first one to make fun of someone who screws up their tricks?"

He laughed, a cold, humourless laugh. "Seriously, you think I would -" He took a breath and started again, a little calmer. "I make fun of people who drop their cards or, I don't know, let the audience see something they shouldn't or if Merritt 'can't reach the spirits' or whatever he calls it. Because that's stupidity, yeah, that's human error. But if you do something wrong, you actually get hurt or drown like Shrike or whatever. I couldn't make _fun_ of that, could I?"

The way he looked her was a whole lot accusing and a tiny bit… disappointed.

But it was true, she felt stupid whenever she made a mistake, no matter whether it was at training or on stage. It was probably due to living and working with some of the best magicians around, and whether openly like Danny or secretly like Merritt, they all were perfectionists and being compared to them was an awful lot of pressure.

"Well, sometimes you say things that sound a lot worse than you intended them to," she muttered, resisting the urge to avoid his eyes.

That didn't really change the expression on his face. "And that actually makes you _hide_ things from me?"

"No," she stuttered, realising how that had to sound to him, and then added irritably: "See, that's exactly why I didn't tell you. You make _everything_ into a problem!"

"Yeah, well, that _is_ a problem!"

"No! It's just a stupid bruise and in a week it'll be gone."

"Yeah, and then next week, there'll be a new one and the week after you'll actually be stuck in one of your tanks just because you're too proud to let anyone help you," he gave back, raising his voice.

"You're one to talk, Mr solo effort."

"I'm not risking my life."

"Nor am I!" she yelled back, wondering how exactly that had escalated so quickly.

"Henley, what do you call it when someone locks themselves up in handcuffs and heavy chains and drops down a tank with a few hundred litres of water, because I call it a risk."

"And I call it my job. I chose this and I'm good at it, stop telling me what to do."

"I know you are and I'm not, I get that you love what you do and that's fine, but can't you see that none of us takes half the risks you do?"

She scoffed. "Feel free to borrow my tank whenever you feel like doing your stupid card tricks underwater."

"I'm serious, Henley!"

She started to pace around the room angrily, wondering vaguely when they had got to their feet in the first place.

She _hated_ these fights, because they always went like this. Classic snow-ball effect.

One of them found one tiny little thing and within a handful of minutes it all escalated into a massive screaming match that either resulted in week-long angry glares and icy silence until one of them caved in, or, if things went well, came to a sudden halt when they noticed how ridiculous the argument was in the first place. But most of the time, they took a little more than a month to give up the point they were trying to make, even if it was stupid and they knew the other was right, because Daniel was proud and would do anything to maintain his ego, he hated not having the last word and was enough of a macho to consider losing a fight to his _girlfriend_ an even bigger disgrace. Henley was stubborn to no end when it came to him because she was constantly trying to prove to herself that she did _not_ let him boss her around, and because she was scared that if she admitted he was right he would never let it go. And she probably was just as proud as he was, even though she'd never admit it.

"Yeah, is there any point to this ore is it all random accusations today? What do you want? What do you want me to do?

"I'm trying to tell you that I want you to be more careful, but you're not listening!"

They both froze for a second and Danny seemed equally shocked about what he'd just said.

Worrying was one thing. He knew he did and somehow she knew he did, too. But _admitting _he was worried was a different thing altogether. It was scaring her slightly, but if it scared him enough to end this pointless fight, she was more than grateful.

"Sorry. I could've told a little more, well, civilised," he muttered after a moment, suddenly calm and looking quite a bit embarrassed.

"Yeah, you could have," she murmured, grinning, then added a little downbeat: "No, it's okay. Me too."

He looked like he wanted to say something, but was interrupted by Jack who burst into the living room with a slightly forced cheerful grin and a tray full of steaming cups.

"Hey guys, I brought coffee."

Danny frowned at him. "_You_ made coffee? I thought you didn't know how to operate the coffee machine."

"He couldn't stand mummy and daddy fighting," Merritt said with a smirk, dropping on the couch next to Henley. "But I told him an ice bag would have been more sensible."

Henley raised an eyebrow and he answered:

"Next time you two wanna yell at each other, you might want to take it outside. These walls are thin. Doesn't take mentalism. But seriously, get me some earplugs for Christmas. The things I hear at night..."

"Actually, Jack, I could do with a coffee," Daniel cut him off and reached for one of the cups. "If you do that more often I might be able to forget the downsides of living with you guys."

* * *

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	8. Three Times Three Words

**Three Times Three Words**

_***A/N* I hope it's not too cheesy. I thought I owed you lot a happier one ;)**_

* * *

It was funny how important three little words could be.

It weren't just the obvious three when it came to Henley and him. There were others, just as meaningful, but probably not quite as graceful.

.

.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" Those, for example, were the first he'd ever said to her, the moment he had bumped into her, some surprisingly sunny morning in March. And spilled his entire cup of black coffee over her beige trench coat. The stains never came off and she had later forced him to buy her a new one.

He remembered the feeling when he'd looked up, muttering excuses. _"Terribly sorry, ma'am…" He blinked, tearing his eyes off the area where he'd spilled the coffee with some effort, caught a glimpse at the stern look in her hazel eyes and her extraordinarily pretty face and repeated, meaning it this time: "_Terribly_ sorry."_

_He could how she debated inwardly whether or not to yell at him. She seemed to decide against it._

_"No big deal," she muttered and he could hear the "thanks mate, I won't ever be wearing this coat again" that she didn't put into words very clearly._

Three words, by the way. Her first sentence had consisted of precisely three words.

_Daniel discovered he was actually feeling guilty about the whole incident, which wasn't something he was used to. Because yes, it had been _his_ coffee, but she had eyes, too, and she could have got out of his way in time. Normally, he would have told her so._

_Instead, he heard himself say: "Hope you're not a heading for a job interview."_

_The woman laughed._

Would he ever be forced to determine when exactly he had fallen for her, he would probably chose this very moment.

But it would take torture to make him say that out loud.

.

"Very bad idea".

He couldn't even remember anymore which of them had said that, which probably was a sign for how much that day had messed with his head. That night a month later he could somehow excuse - he had made the mistake of drinking despite the fact he was tired and had taken a handful of pills earlier that day because of a dreadful headache, and God knew he had paid the price.

But that day, he had been entirely sober and she'd been, too. It had just been another evening after another show on another small dusty stage. And he never knew how it had happened or which of them had initiated it, anyway they had ended up backstage, far too close and more or less all over each other. None of them had ever talked of this again and those three words were all he remembered, apart from the kiss, obviously.

But that wasn't the only significant thing about them. They had more or less summed it all up.

It had been a very bad idea.

But it had felt pretty damn good.

.

.

They were both not using _the words_ very often. It was the one thing Daniel had never said to get a woman in his bed - he didn't have many rules, but he stuck to this one.

Maybe they were both suffering from fear of commitment. Alright, no, he _knew_ they did.

So, even if he could have slapped himself on a daily basis because he'd never said it after she'd left, he remained perfectly silent. She probably was waiting for him to say it just as much as he was waiting for her to do so, but he didn't.

It was sort of stupid, now they were living in the same flat and even admitted towards the other two that they were a couple. But it wasn't the only stupid thing they did and probably not the most stupid of them. The fact they refused to share a bedroom even though one of their beds was empty every night qualified, though.

They might or might not have been whispered between breathless kisses one night or the other, but if they had, then neither of them admitted it.

Asked what was the worst time to say those words (he couldn't remember how exactly the topic had come up, but it had definitely been very late and there had definitely been alcohol involved - as sad as it probably was, that was what it took to get them to open up), their answers had been very different and some less serious than others.

"Not after the sex. That's just weird," had been Henley's reply, making the boys laugh.

"Not when you still call going out a 'date'," was what Merritt had said (Daniel had raised a brow at that, thinking that that was the strangest definition of a relationship he'd ever heard in his life).

"Not _before_ the sex. And never to make someone stay," had been Danny's answer.

"Not too often, it just looses its meaning," Jack had said, very seriously. And Daniel had once again wondered whether that boy wasn't a damn lot smarter than he let on.

.

Practice was over, Jack had once again pickpocketed them all in turns which was what he called training and Daniel had once again been the only one to notice.

Merritt had driven them all insane with his personal questions and Henley had once again told him very sharply he was going too far and Daniel had once again told him pointedly that a mentalist didn't actually _need_ practice.

Daniel had once more driven them up the wall with his bragging and his perfection, had as always grinded his teeth at the sight of his girlfriend underwater in heavy chains and hadn't let anyone leave before the last dust particle had been removed.

Henley's hair was still so wet it seemed almost black. She leaned against her tank, a damp towel around her shoulders and slight black smudges around her eyes. Daniel put the last boxes back on their shelves, feeling a sudden rush of gratitude towards the Eye for the disused warehouse - the work the horsemen had put into every single training session before had been unbelievable.

"You're just hanging behind so you won't have to do dinner, aren't you?" He felt that small, involuntary smile creeping on his lips at the sight of her, a stray strand of hair hanging in her face. He found it fascinating how different she looked without her eyeliner and her bright red lipstick, how fragile and young she seemed and how little like the woman he'd spilled his coffee over all those years ago.

And he knew the warm feeling in his chest was pride because he didn't chase her away this time and because when she looked up at him she had this warm spark in her eyes and he knew she was _his_ and hell, yes, he was damn proud of that.

"I love you."

She grinned at him widely. "What have you done, Danny?"

Her reaction made him laugh and he raised his hands in defence. Well, once again she'd taken him completely by surprise. "Nothing, I swear."

"I don't believe you," she muttered and kissed him. "Not for a second."

"Shut up, I meant that," he replied, smiling back against his will.

"I know," she purred, straightening his notoriously rumpled shirt collar. "The only time I can be sure you're not lying."

"Hey. I'm not a liar," he gave back, trying to maintain some of the hurt in his voice while she kissed him again.

"You are when it comes to," she made a meaningful pause and her voice was dripping with irony, "you know, _love_."

He laughed. "Not more than you, sweetheart."

"You're waiting for me to say something, aren't you?"

He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant and knowing he was not doing too well. "Perhaps."

Clearly relishing in the power she had over him, she flashed him her brightest smile. "You really are an idiot, Danny Atlas."

She pulled him closer and added softly:

"I love you."

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	9. Just A Shame, That's All

**Just A Shame, That's All**

**DISCLAIMER**: I don't hold any rights to the song or anything related to it.

**Song mentionned: **"That's All" by Genesis (title taken from the lyrics as well)

_***A/N* Yes, some seventeen year-old girls still listen to Genesis.  
I just can't seem to stay away from their past, I hope I'm not annoying you with it. Don't worry, I've got more post-movie stuff coming up ;) As I was really pleased with the last one, I'm not sure if this one can compete with it, but I hope you'll like it anyway and if you've got promts, let me hear them!**_

* * *

The piano chords were all that kept her going as she mechanically stuffed her clothes into the battered suitcase, thinking how tragic it was that everything she possessed didn't suffice to fill the tiny thing. She threw the lid shut, closed the zip and hated how much noise it made.

The sound equalled leaving and now it filled every corner of her empty flat, it made things so _final_.

She stopped in front of the mirror and wiped away the black traces her tears had left on her cheeks, ashamed of herself.

For Heaven's sake, it wasn't worth it.

_He _certainly wasn't worth it. Arrogant prick.

She shoved her phone into her pocket (why did the wretched thing never ring when she needed it to?), silenced the music and slammed the door shut. She didn't bother locking it, there wasn't anything left to steal after all.

Taking a deep breath, she tugged at her gloves for a moment, then lifted the suitcase and made her way down the stairs, ignoring the slight burning in her eyes and trying to convince herself that this felt good. That it felt right.

That she was heading towards a new life, a better one.

It was just what she'd told herself when she had stepped out of Grand Central Station two years ago, and now once again she was leaving because she wasn't enough in the eyes of the people she loved. There really was nothing new under the sun.

_Next time, Henley. You'll see._

Henley Reeves turned her back on New York City, and she didn't exactly feel like coming back any time soon.

.

.

_Damn it, Daniel, what the hell are you doing? _

He knew he had neither a right nor a sensible reason to enter his ex-assistant's flat. And it wasn't like he needed a charge of breaking and entering on top of his very tight schedule and his very empty bank account.

But he couldn't resist - he needed to know if she was really gone.

A flickering street light illuminated the small room with the worn wooden floor. For a second he thought it looked just like it had when he had so cowardly snuck out a week ago, but the shelves were empty and the bed had that cold, abandoned look about it. The vases and photographs were missing from the window sills and tables and the air was stale. Nobody had been in this flat for days.

She was gone.

While he tried to grasp the meaning of those three words, he noticed a blinking light in one of the shelves.

It was a CD player.

He almost smiled when he saw it - Henley was brilliant with computers, much better than he was, but it was so like her to still have that old thing.

Because he was curious (and because the riddle was a more than welcome distraction from the pain creeping up on him), he pressed play.

.

_I could leave but I won't go_

_It would be easier I know_

_I can't feel a thing from my head down to my toes_

_._

The voice seemed vaguely familiar, radio music from yet another childhood memory he'd rather forget.

.

_Truth is I love you_

_More than I wanted to_

_._

He wondered dazedly whether she had left the CD behind on purpose and leaned against the cold wall, feeling numb. _Damn it, Henley, how could you know I'd come here?_

.

_I could say day and you would say night_

_Tell me it's black when I know that it's white_

_It's always the same, it's just a shame, that's all_

_. _

He sat motionless in the dark, listening until the song ended. It hurt and he let it, just for now, even though he knew it shouldn't.

Another song began, and suddenly he remembered. Genesis. His mother had loved the band, every time it had played on the radio she had turned it up until he'd thought his ears would fall off. Another memory crossed his mind, sunlight streaming through the stained windows of their old car and his mother singing and smiling at him, and his ten year-old self grinning back weakly (he'd definitely got better at faking smiles over the years).

.

God, he was getting sentimental. Henley was just someone he was working with, no need to let it get to him so much. Pardon, _had been working with._

He shook his head angrily, trying to get rid of the silly sadness, and got to his feet.

He was wasting his time. He turned the music off, hoping it would break the spell, but it didn't. With stiff, hurried steps, he walked out of the door, forcing himself not to look back.

It was of little importance how he felt about it, fact was he had lost his best assistant. Now he was going to have to make do with Rebecca, who was not only a lot slower than Henley, but also lacked any kind of initiative - not to mention she never objected to anything he said, no matter how stupid it was. His only hope was that her infatuation with him could somehow make up for her limited intelligence.

He closed the door, his head just as silent and empty as the flat on the other side.

.

.

_Always the same, it's just a shame, that's all._

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	10. Dinner Night

**Dinner Night**

_***A/N* I really really wanted to have Alma and Dylan in, too, especially Alma because I absolutely loved her. As it turns out, I'm pretty good at imitating her accent when speaking, I'm not sure I got her right here, though...  
So, a happy one this time, established Danley and no dabbling into their past. Instead, I tried to fix a little plothole ;) Please enjoy, and feel free to leave a promt!**_

_**P.S.: Another big thank you to everyone who's reviewed/favourited so far, it really means a lot to me :)**_

* * *

"You boys did a great dinner," Alma said, raising her glass to the others. "Why are you always pretending you could not cook, Dylan?"

"Yeah, funny, together you seem to achieve something." Henley grinned and snatched the last slice of cake off Jack's plate who threw her a look but didn't protest.

"Ah well, the things you do to impress the ladies," Merritt said with a smug grin.

The French laughed and looked at them, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"You're the great magicians. I bet you never had to do anything stupid just to impress a girl."

Daniel grinned sheepishly, Dylan suddenly took a lot of interest in the breadcrumbs on his plate, Merritt stared intently at his beer bottle and Jack burst out laughing.

Henley winked at Alma, eyes bright, and leaned back on her chair. "Right, now you have to tell us."

"We don't _have _to do anything."

She playfully pointed her fork at him and teased: "Careful, Danny. God knows I have more than enough information on you, I could sure as hell blackmail you into anything."

The others laughed, he returned her look but didn't reply.

"Now, then, I want to know, at least one time," Alma said, still grinning. "I'll make the start if you want. When I was in _lycée, _that's, er, high school for you, I think, there was this boy. Jean-Pierre. He was in the school band. I volunteered to look after the little kids every afternoon just so I could hear them rehearse once a week." She laughed. "I don't think he ever knew I existed."

"Then he was an idiot," Dylan muttered, earning himself a bright smile.

"Piano lessons," Jack offered. "Three years, I was actually quite good. Plus, it sounds cool if you just mention it, you know. Most girls seem to think that anyway."

"I once changed a trick during the show so it would be more impressive," Henley said, grinning. "Dropped the hairpin and was stuck in the handcuffs for good. It was really embarrassing."

She turned to Merritt, who just shrugged.

"Poetry."

"_You?_ Seriously?" Daniel snorted and threw the mentalist a disbelieving look.

"Yeah, Shakespeare and Keats and stuff. Ladies get off on that, you should try it."

"Are they _always _like that?" Alma asked amusedly, turning to Henley who gave a dramatic sigh.

"I try to keep them in separate rooms as much as possible. Used to tell myself they'd grow up eventually, but I've given up hope a while ago."

The attention turned back on the two remaining magicians.

"Daniel?"

"Um, let me think… extra lessons in my senior year. In order to shag one of my classmates, obviously," he added with a smirk. "I think it was Spanish… still don't understand a word of it."

"Hang on, you took more classes than necessary for an entire term just to get laid?" Jack demanded, grinning at the sleigh of hand.

"Yep."

"Desperate, where you?" Henley teased and he threw a peanut at her.

"I was _eighteen_."

"And you haven't changed all that much," Merritt added drily, making another peanut head his way.

Alma chuckled and turned to her boyfriend. "Dylan. We're waiting."

He eyed her, then smiled and replied nonchalantly: "I once climbed into a burning car even though I knew the person in it was long dead and made a point of trying to 'rescue' them."

Danny laughed. "So _that's _why! Ever since New York, I've been trying to make sense of that car crash," he explained at Dylan's slightly confused glance. "But I never managed to figure out why you didn't just get the documents and saved yourself before the whole thing went up in flames."

Dylan coughed nervously. "Er, Daniel, Alma wanted to ask you something."

"Oh, did you?"

She smiled. "Yeah, I never properly learned that card trick and Dylan refuses to teach me."

"Are you sure you want to let that guy," Henley made a meaningful pause and nodded towards Daniel, "teach you anything? Because that's a living hell, and trust me, I've been through it."

"Yeah, thanks," Danny muttered darkly, looking slightly insulted. "I can be nice if I want to," he said, throwing Henley a pointed look.

"Oh,_ I_ know,sweetheart," she replied smoothly, a suggestive grin on her lips.

"God, _please,_" Merritt muttered, grimacing. "Just don't do that. Please just don't."

Daniel grinned. "You know that your reaction is exactly why we're doing it, right?"

"Yeah, I'm just saying. Don't take it too far, we've got a lot to take as it is, don't we, Jack?"

The pickpocket exchanged a look with Merritt and grinned.

Daniel rolled his eyes and placed his deck of cards on the table.

"So, what are you going to show me?" Alma asked, eying the cards with interest.

"Something really basic," he assured her and added lightly: "Don't want you to steal all the glory."

"You should teach her a decent shuffle first," Dylan interrupted, leaning back on his chair with a grin on his lips and a fond glint in his eyes. "The first time she tried, she managed to find the right card, but threw it halfway across the plane in the process. And the last time, three or four cards ended up underneath the fridge, may they rest in peace. We'll never get the damned things out of there again."

Alma punched him lightly on the arm, but joined in with the laughter around the table.

Henley poured more wine and watched her boyfriend and his cards (true love right there), brows raised in amusement. A while later, he shoved them over to her, too, but, unlike Alma, she seemed to have no talent for it at all.

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	11. Funeral

**Funeral**

**_*A/N* So yeah, I know this is really cliché and all evil-mother-in-law-ish. My only defence is that she's grieving and this is Daniel's point of view, so it might come across a little worse than it actually is. Or maybe there really are people like that. Pick an excuse ;)  
I hope you'll like it, anyway!_**

* * *

Something was off. He knew before he closed the front door, because, even though the others were all home judging by the jackets hanging on the wardrobe and the shoes aligned underneath, the flat was completely silent.

He frowned, kicked off his shoes and slowly approached the living room door.

The three horsemen sat around the coffee table in silence, Merritt slouched on his favourite armchair reading a book, Jack fumbling with a set of locks and Henley propped up against the armrest of the couch, her feet tugged underneath her, staring at the wall.

An opened letter lay on the table, not handwritten.

His eyes returned to the escape artist. She was dressed in unusually casual clothes, her hair straight and slightly undone - it wasn't like he'd never seen her like this before, but if he did, it was usually very late at night or very early in the morning and _never_ outside the bedroom.

She looked very young like this, and fragile.

It was scary.

"Hey."

Henley didn't react at all, Jack muttered "hey Daniel", but Merritt raised his head and threw him a look that was probably supposed to have a meaning , then nodded towards the letter on the table and shrugged.

Daniel had no idea what he was trying to tell him.

Slightly taken aback (Merritt trying to keep him from doing something stupid?), he looked back, hoping his confusion was clearly visible and picked up the envelope.

Addressed, just as he had thought, at Miss Henley Reeves.

It probably was something bad, but he still didn't have a better strategy than asking: "What's this?" It was a blunt question, and his attempt at masking it by waving the envelope and keeping his voice as low as he could didn't make it any better.

Henley finally raised her head and looked up with him, a slightly lost expression in her eyes. "It's an invitation," she answered equally quiet.

He sat down between her and Jack, waiting for her to go on.

"To my dad's funeral."

_Okay. You should probably say something, Daniel._

Nobody said anything, and going by the shocked looks on their faces, Jack and Merritt hadn't known either.

Still silence.

_Say something._

He didn't find anything sensible to say. "When?"

"Thursday," she answered tonelessly, her fingers closing around his.

They sat motionlessly for a while, all staring into the same direction. None of them said a word.

.

.

He eyed her cautiously on their way to the graveyard.

She was looking good, no doubt. Just like him, she was mostly wearing her stage clothes - they were the most formal things they had.

But also looked unsettlingly _not_ like Henley. It felt off seeing her on the street without her bright red lipstick, with her long hair in a ponytail, bare hands and that lost expression that hadn't left her eyes since the day the invitation had come.

"Danny? Look, about my mum," she smiled weakly and threw a slightly frightful look ahead, "Whatever she says - just don't listen."

He frowned at her and answered slowly: "Alright."

"Seriously, ignore her."

Smiling slightly, he gave back: "Your family can't be much worse than mine, don't worry."

"Wanna bet?" she muttered darkly and took a deep breath.

"Ready?"

"Nope," she murmured, turning towards the gate.

"C'mon, you're here. I wouldn't have come this far," he muttered and pushed her gently towards the gate. "Go on, I'm right behind you."

Henley nodded and made her way trough the gate, fiddling with her bare hands as if she too was missing her gloves.

.

The service came and went. They were sitting somewhere in the back of the church, crammed between a bunch of sobbing great-aunts and old school friends, and could barely see the altar with the big framed photograph.

Even though he didn't know a lot about funerals and it didn't seem to bother Henley in the least (in fact he thought she hadn't even noticed), he didn't believe it was the pattern to ban the family's only daughter into the back row.

She sat next to him, staring ahead blindly and gripping his hand so tightly he spent most of the service trying not to groan in pain.

.

He hadn't been to many funerals in his life, but he was fairly sure none of them had been this miserable. But maybe that was just the awkward feeling of invading a private family moment, like a twisted variation of crashing a wedding.

"Henley."

If it was actually possible for Henley to move any less, she did now. The woman standing next to them had the same red hair, streaked with grey. Given their surroundings and the fact she was a grieving widow, a look of sadness would have suited her better than the disdain she was currently sporting.

"Mum."

Henley finally let go of his hand. Her mother scrutinised them both critically from head to foot while he stealthily flexed his fingers, trying to get the blood circulation back to normal.

"You probably remember Daniel," Henley muttered and he was deeply shocked to find that not only she was looking to the ground, but was also talking in a voice he'd never heard before - quiet, shy… scared?

That was not the woman he knew.

"Atlas, isn't it? Well, how am I supposed to forget a face from the breaking news telling me my only daughter was a criminal," her mother replied drily.

"I actually meant I used to work with him, but…"

He could practically feel how much she wanted to run away from this person (he couldn't blame her all that much).

"I didn't think you were going to come." It was astonishing how she managed to make something positive sound so reproaching.

"Of course I came," Henley muttered, her voice getting a little stronger.

Okay, that was enough. "Yes, drove roughly three hundred miles for it."

Henley stepped on his foot and he was grateful for the lack of pointy heels.

"So, what is it like, living as a fugitive?"

Henley shrank a little more and Daniel suppressed a very rare wish to make use of physical violence. Gosh, this woman really was hell.

"Mum, say one more thing about it and I'll just go-", Henley muttered, glaring up at her mother defiantly. "I came here for Dad, not for your entertainment. Actually, I'll just… I won't be long," she whispered then , sounding a little shaken, and walked off towards the freshly-dug grave, leaving him alone with the widow.

.

"So, do you just live off your stolen money or does any of you actually have a proper job? About time now, " another critical glance at him, "you're not in your twenties anymore."

"Right. That was three insults in two sentences, not bad. I'll just ignore it," he answered without blinking (oh come on, he'd heard much worse), making a point of keeping his voice neutral and friendly. "Not that it's any of my business, but I suppose it would be an idea to not have a go at her during the funeral. Doesn't make a good impression."

"Do you really think you're in any position to tell me something about good impressions?"

"Well, I think I'm in a good enough position to tell that you almost made her cry," he deadpanned. "You haven't seen her in years and this is all you have to tell her, that's… that's really touching."

"Henley had the chance to have a good life and she threw it away and now she's a criminal… but I don't expect you to understand that, I mean you're… of the same breed as far as I heard."

Her condescending tone was starting to make him seriously angry.

"Oh, yes, I'm notoriously dishonest, lazy, stupid and a thoroughly evil person." Whoops. He hadn't intended to put that much sarcasm into his voice.

She smiled coldly and replied in kind. "And remarkably well brought up."

Thank God he hadn't intended to form a good relationship with his girlfriend's mother in the first place, because it was clearly too late for that now.

"Look, ma'am, I don't care if you've got a problem with me. But, in case you haven't noticed, you've just lost your husband. Your daughter's still there, you know. So there's still a part of your family left and I see you're very intent on burning those bridges, and quite frankly I couldn't care less, but you're really making it all even worse for Henley. And I won't just stand here and watch that."

His speech had conjured a look of slight surprise on her face. He figured she had expected him to talk like a severely handicapped five-year old, or just be too dumb to grasp the situation altogether.

"I'll treat my daughter the way I think is right, thank you very much," she replied calmly.

"Well, I think that this is not the moment to punish her because you don't approve of what she's made of her life," he bit back quietly. "And by the way, you should be proud of her. Entertainment is a tough business-"

She opened her mouth to protest, but he didn't stop talking.

"and she's one of the strongest people I know. A lot kinder than I would have expected her to turn out, too."

Now he'd definitely gone too far. Whatever.

"Right then, I'll go and take care of her. Or get drunk or whatever it is you were expecting from someone of _our breed_."

.

"What have you two been doing?" she asked without turning around. She still stood at the grave, staring intently at the black soil to her feet, but no matter whether she was looking at him or not, he knew she was crying.

"Let's just say if my impression on her could still get any worse, it is now," he muttered and put an arm around her.

She gave a small, tearful laugh. "What did you do?"

"Nothing serious, just talking, you know. I might have _indirectly_ insulted her, though."

Nodding, she muttered: "I think I'll skip the rest of this, let's go home."

"Oh, come on," he said quietly, forcing a smile on his face. "You're insulting me. I took a whole year to drive you away and your darling mum manages in less than five minutes? She can't be worse than I am."

That got a real smile out of her. "Haven't decided yet."

"Come on. Don't let her win. One hour, I swear I'll be there all the time and try not to upset another relative of yours and then we'll have dinner somewhere cheerful and strictly non-family reunion."

"Can't do that, there's a five-hour drive ahead of us."

He smiled weakly. "We can always check into a hotel and take shameless advantage of the fact we're alone for once."

"Seriously, the nerve of you to say something like that at my father's grave-" she replied, her voice thick with tears and laughter, leaning her head against his shoulder to hide the fact she was laughing at a funeral. Still smiling slightly (_he_ didn't care what the rest of the funeral party thought of him), he put his arms around her, quite a little proud of himself.

He wasn't exactly known for finding the right words. But this time, he'd cheered her up, that was a win. Definitely today's highlight.

Not that that was very hard, he thought and sighed at the prospect of another hour with the shrew.

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	12. Reasons

**Reasons**

_***A/N* So, just a short one this time - I've got a longer one, but there's still like half of it missing and I didn't want to keep you waiting ;) Promts much appreciated.**_

* * *

J. Daniel Atlas loved the stage.

Because, no matter who you were outside the spotlight, on stage you could be whoever you wanted.

There were times when he couldn't stand who he was, but that didn't matter, because with his cards in his hands he didn't have to be this person.

And the transformation of invisible little Danny Atlas into one of the greatest magicians in the world was more magic then he had ever been prepared to believe in.

.

.

Henley Reeves loved the feeling of cold metal on her skin. Handcuffs around her wrists didn't scare her, no, they made her feel even more confident (a mistake the FBI had made more than once).

The best thing about being an escape artist was the freedom that burned through her veins with the heavy chains wrapped around her, which might sound a little paradox, but there was nothing more comforting than the knowledge she could get out of them.

When one had spent so much time feeling like one lived in a cage, getting out of chains, locks, handcuffs and little boxes was the best job in the world.

.

.

Merritt McKinney loved the panicked little spark in people's eyes when they realised he was really going to expose one or two of their little secrets. He loved how they all came to him, expecting they could somehow debunk his trick. But, unlike his colleagues, even though he did use it frequently, he didn't strictly _need _preparation. With a bit of luck, he could actually guess people's secrets.

Due to how he had been betrayed and robbed of both his money and his dignity by his brother, he just loved to make someone pay for that - even if it was a stranger.

And, to be honest, it was the one thing he was good at, incredibly good, even, and it felt great to be the best.

.

.

Jack Wilder loved the feeling of strange possessions at his fingertips. It wasn't that he wanted to keep them, he just loved that feeling of power, the knowledge he wouldn't be caught.

The kick of adrenaline was better than anything else. He meant no harm by breaking the law (usually, that was), but it just was his thing, it was what he was good at. Breaking locks, pickpocketing, small street tricks. He wasn't a showman like Danny, he had no desire whatsoever to try and get out of a locked water tank and he was spectacularly bad at guessing people's secrets.

No, Jack was a man of small things and in the end, there was no sweeter sound than the clicking of a lock, was there?

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	13. Magic

**Magic**

**DISCLAIMER**: I hold no rights whatsoever to "Magic" or anything related to it.

_***A/N* I love Coldplay (I've written three fics including their lyrics, like my NYSM story "Questions of Science"), so if they release a single called Magic, how could I resist? Plus, it's a great song. No regrets :) **_  
_**Anyways, right back to the roots this time - the beginning of a wonderful friendship *cough*.**_

_**Btw, I'm having a look at all the wonderful prompts. Lots of people asked for more Jack and while I will certainly do my best to have him appear more often, I'll have to admit that I never really got the hang of Jack - I couldn't really understand his character. So I guess I'll not write anything entirely Jack-centred.**_

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_Call it magic, call it truth  
I call it magic when I'm with you  
And I just got broken, broken into two  
Still, I call it magic when I'm next to you_

_._

_._

"Daniel?"

He stopped and turned around. It took him a moment to place the young woman with the flaming red hair until he remembered the incident with his coffee.

"Hi." He smiled at her. "You're lucky. No coffee this time."

Henley laughed and shoved her hands down her coat pockets (new coat, he realised with slight embarrassment, as he'd ruined her old one). "Fancy one? Coffee, I mean?"

"Yeah, why not?"

.

"So, you, er… you live here?"

"Manhattan? No, I can't afford that - I work in some shabby bar."

"Nightshifts in a bar," he repeated. "Desperate, were you?"

Slight hurt flickered across her features, just for a second, but he saw it nonetheless.

"Sorry, I didn't-"

"It's okay," she gave back quickly. "I get that a lot."

"No, it's not okay. That's just me, I'm not good at it."

"Good at what?"

"Making conversation. I've never worked well with people. My tricks are all I'm good at, really. Fairly decent at history, maybe. That's all."

She eyed him for a moment, visibly wondering whether he'd meant that, then said, with a nod at her cup: "Your taste in coffee shops is okay, too."

Slightly taken aback, he blinked back at her, then a smile stole on his lips. "Thanks."

"Never mind," she gave back and stirred in her coffee. "You'll get there."

Latte Macchiato with brown sugar and cinnamon, he thought and shook his head. The more time he spent with her, the more certain he was he'd never met someone quite like her. Which made her pretty much perfect.

"So, that job then. Tell me about it."

She shrugged, a slightly annoyed look on her face. "Well, it's rubbish, that's all. I mean, try working at a bar after midnight as a woman . Everyone is really drunk and either you have to listen to someone sobbing about how his girlfriend left him or whatever, or creepy drunks hit on you non-stop." Absent-mindedly, she stoked her red hair out of her face and sighed. "I need the job, but I _hate _it."

"Bar keeper's not what you're trained to do, is it?"

"I'm not trained to do anything," she answered with an apologetic grin. "I just wanted away from home. Thought I'd come to here, see where it goes."

Daniel smiled. "I only made it to another part of town. But whatever, New York's as good as anywhere for me."

"Yeah, I'll find something. I mean, it's only been a year."

He glanced up at her once more and nodded slowly, biting his lip. This girl could be just what he needed.

"Actually, you know…" He smiled, hoping she wouldn't notice he was nervous, and went on: "The money's probably gonna be lousy and I suppose I'm not a very good boss, but I might have a job for you."

She raised a brow. "What sort of job?"

"Actually, I… I need an assistant."

"Like a lab assistant? Because I suck at science."

He liked her even more. "Yeah, me too. No, for a show."

"Music?"

"Magic."

"Magic," she repeated, a slight grin on her lips and the hint of a frown around her eyes. He knew that look.

"Did you know that most people who come to see a magic show don't believe in magic?" he asked, smiling back and sipping at his coffee.

"Do you?"

He laughed. "Not in my own."

"Why do you call it magic, then?" she asked, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and looked back at him with this amused spark in her brown eyes.

"Because if you used to stutter, you don't go for a word like _illusionist_ unless you have to."

It was surprisingly easy to make her laugh, and he didn't even have to lie. He couldn't deny he liked that about her.

"Okay, so what use is an assistant in a magic show?" she inquired, with a hint of sarcasm towards the end.

"Distraction, mostly," he explained with a shrug. "Most tricks need preparation so someone needs to draw the audience's attention. They're not supposed to figure out how it works, after all."

"So you say that I'm… distracting?" she asked and leaned back in her chair, grinning at him.

Well, damn, he should have seen that one coming.

"I'm saying that you could be if you tried," he gave back, hoping to sound nonchalant.

A smug smile stole on her lips, but she didn't comment. "Okay. Everything's better than that den I'm working in now."

"Just try it," he said with a shrug, "we'll see if it works out."

She finished her coffee and nodded. "Alright, Mr Atlas. We have a deal." A grin spread on her lips. "But now I want to see something."

Not for the first time, Danny was glad he carried those cards around wherever he went.

"Okay," he muttered, holding out his cards towards her. "Now this is just some basic stuff, street trick really. Pick one. Don't show me."

Tentatively, she stretched out her hand and took one.

A few minutes later, he held her card in his hand, and Henley laughed.

There, _that_ was the magic he believed in.

.

.

_And if you were to ask me, after all that we've been through  
"Do you still believe in magic?"  
Well, yes I do_

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